


To Concession

by sandwastesinthevoidofmychest



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Established Relationship, Inspired by Fanart, M/M, Not Beta Read, POV Mycroft Holmes, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Uncle Mycroft, building a snowman, do not copy to another site
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:53:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29244627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandwastesinthevoidofmychest/pseuds/sandwastesinthevoidofmychest
Summary: Christmas Eve brings a surprise visit from Rosie, and the sight of Greg in reindeer antlers.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes/Lestrade
Comments: 15
Kudos: 115





	To Concession

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nonbinary](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonbinary/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Concession [Fanart]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28257159) by [nonbinary](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonbinary/pseuds/nonbinary). 



> Hello! This was entirely inspired by [Yves's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonbinary/pseuds/nonbinary) gorgeous Christmas artwork which is linked above, please go appreciate it before reading this! When I saw it first, this story just immediately started building itself, I'm just so sorry it took so long. 
> 
> Anyway, please enjoy <3

Mycroft was surprised to get the text. He'd decided to work from home seeing it was Christmas Eve and the roads would be bedlam, especially with the unexpected snowfall. 

He felt sorry for Greg, who had been unexpectedly called into work early this morning. Out of the warm cocoon of their duvet and Mycroft's arms, but at least they both had the next few days off. 

_ 11:23] Can you take Rosie for the afternoon, John and I need to sort Santa presents -SH _

In fact, Mycroft is delighted. He hadn't seen Rosie in over a week and he is looking forward to giving her her Christmas present. 

_ 11:25] Certainly, I would be delighted. Do you need me to send a car?  _

The next message comes through immediately, and does not surprise Mycroft one bit. 

_ 11:26] Currently in cab, will be with you in minutes. -SH _

Mycroft can't help but smile despite himself. He doesn't bother texting back and instead clears up what he's been working on all morning; knowing that there's no impending deadline. He's locking his office when his doorbell chimes. 

Opening the door, he's greeted with Rosie screaming "Uncle My!" As she wiggles in Sherlock's arms, holding out her arms for Mycroft to hold her. 

"Hello, darling one." He takes her from Sherlock, and kisses her forehead. She hums happily, dressed in a pink puffy coat, sparkling wellie boots and a hat. 

Mycroft glances at Sherlock, who is doing his utmost best not to smile at them both. 

He hands over a rucksack of anything Rosie could possibly need and Mycroft nods in thanks.

Sherlock sniffs, "I best be off, see you later Rosie." He says tenderly, blowing a kiss.

Rosie mimics him, "Bye, Papa!"

They stand at the door, Rosie giggling as they watch Sherlock traverse the pathway through the snow. 

Rosie rests her head on Mycroft's shoulder as he shuts the door and brings her into the kitchen, "Uncle My?" Rosie whispers a hint of conspiracy in her voice. 

"Yes?" Mycroft asks, raising an eyebrow at her. She grins, eyes sparkling. 

"Can we build a snowman?"

Mycroft is momentarily taken off guard at the question. He glances out the window and it's easy to see that there's plenty of snow to make a snowman. 

In fact, he has never built a snowman before. The idea is surprisingly satisfying.

“Perhaps later, dearest. First would you like lunch?” 

Rosie’s eyes widen, “Pancakes?” 

Mycroft smiles fondly at her, he’d made them once for her and they were now all she would eat with him. “Certainly, now let’s get you out of that coat, you’ll need it later to build a snowman.” 

Mycroft puts her down onto a stool at the kitchen island, and helps her out of the coat. 

“Where’s uncle Greg?” She asks as he’s in the process of taking her woolly hat off. 

“He’s at work today.” 

Rosie frowns, “Will he be back before I go home?” 

Mycroft can’t help but smile, “Hopefully.” 

The answer seems to satisfy her, and she happily watches as Mycroft explains each step of making pancakes to her as he does it. 

“Uncle My?” Rosie asks as he zips up her coat for her. 

“Yes, dearest?” 

“We need things for the snowman.” She says, watching as he takes his own coat and scarf from where he’d left them on the table. 

“Oh, and what would that be?” He asks, arching an eyebrow as he buttons up his coat. 

Rosie looks at him, determined for a three year old. “A scarf.” She says, pointing at the cashmere scarf around his neck. 

Mycroft bites his tongue, mentally running though his catalogue of scarfs, unsure of how to explain that he doesn’t own any scarf that costs under £100, and that the snow would certainly ruin them. 

But before he can say as much, he sees Rosie staring up at him with wide, innocent eyes, and he caves. 

“What colour scarf were you thinking about?” 

“Red!” She says immediately, “Like Santa wears!” 

Mycroft bites his tongue, but nods. "I'm sure I could find a red scarf. What else will we need, dearest?" 

Rosie hums, "A carrot for his nose." 

Mycroft nods, "Of course." He's already picking out a carrot from the vegetable drawer and Rosie beams at him. 

_ It would be worth ruining a thousand scarfs to be the recipient of that smile.  _

"Then last is coal." 

"Coal?" Mycroft asks, thinking of the bucket full of it by the fire in the sitting room. "For what?" 

"For his eyes and buttons!" 

Mycroft merely nods, sighing internally at the fact that this is going to be far messier than he'd originally thought. 

"And did Papa put a pair of gloves in your bag for you?" He asks wryly, going to search through the rucksack Sherlock had left him with. 

He finds two pairs, with a note attached to one of them. 

_ Use these for building the snowman, she will need warm, dry gloves for the trip home.  _

Mycroft's leather gloves work wonders against the cold of the snow, but unlike Rosie with her wellington boots, his handmade Italian Oxfords are woeful at keeping his feet dry. His long, woollen coat is also quickly becoming a victim to the impromptu snowball fight Rosie had insisted on. 

He shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was to discover that Rosie is fiercely competitive. 

While Mycroft rolls miniature snowballs and does his utmost best to ‘accidentally’ miss hitting his beloved three year old niece, Rosie is taking utter joy from pelting Mycroft’s coat with snowballs as big as her hands can make. 

When Mycroft makes the mistake to bend down to fetch more snow, Rosie manages to hit him square in the face with a snowball. 

At the unexpected flash of cold...slushiness…Mycroft falls over, letting out an undignified shriek as he lands right on his arse in the snow. 

He silently thanks the stars that it’s just him and Rosie seeing his downfall like this. Rosie is laughing loudly, and Mycroft can’t help but smile, cheeks red with embarrassment as he manages to get to his feet as dust himself off. 

“Time for that snowman, I believe. Hmm?” 

Rosie nods excitedly, for which Mycroft is relieved. 

Mycroft Holmes does not beg, but he may have been reduced to exactly that if it meant not getting hit with anymore snowballs. 

As far as his lack of experience with building a snowman had worried him, Christmas films he had watched with Greg lately helped, while Rosie filled in any gaps he may have struggled with. 

Had he ever considered he’d be debating with his niece about the proper height for a snowman on Christmas eve?

No. Yet, here he is. 

Mycroft's mourning the loss of his cashmere scarf to their snowman as he picks Rosie up in order to help her stick the carrot into what could pass as the head of their very wobbly snowman. 

Rosie's face of pure concentration is broken when they hear someone clearing their throat from behind them.

She turns her head before Mycroft has the chance to turn around, so he's deafened when Rosie screams "UNCLE GREG!" 

Mycroft has to do a double-take when he turns to see his husband. His heart beating just a little faster like it always does when Greg's involved. 

The French doors are open and Greg's leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, and a doting smile on his lips as he watches Mycroft with Rosie. 

His eyes are shining with what looks like pride. 

Mycroft has no idea how long Greg has been standing watching him and Rosie build a snowman.

Mycroft's eyes take in his husband, still wrapped in his long, woollen coat and a blue cashmere scarf that Mycroft had gifted him for his birthday. His nose is red with the cold; so Mycroft guesses that Greg’s been watching them for a while. 

Then something catches Mycroft’s attention. 

Antlers. 

Greg’s wearing antlers with bells on them. They jingle with each step he takes towards them. Mycroft can’t help but smile, when he huffs a laugh, his breath is visible in the cold air. 

Greg  _ winks _ at him. 

Even after all these years, it manages to make his knees feel weak. 

Rosie’s already reaching out for Greg to take her into his arms.  
  
“Hello, little darlin’!” Greg grins, taking her from Mycroft. She squeals as she wraps her arms around him and he kisses her forehead. 

As Rosie rests her head on Greg’s shoulder, she murmurs how she missed him. 

Greg smiles so wide that it makes Mycroft’s heart sing. 

Greg leans in close to Mycroft, kissing the tip of his nose, “Hello, love.” 

“You look a bit different than this morning.” Mycroft murmurs, amusement in his voice. 

Greg’s eyes shine, his eyes warm pools of chocolate that Mycroft gets completely lost in. 

“Well, these are because I’m one of Santa’s little helpers.” He shakes his head, allowing the bells on the antlers to tinkle. 

Rosie stares up at Greg, amazement in her eyes. “You know Santa?” She whispers in awe. 

“‘Course I do. Your uncle Mycroft has tea with him and the Queen.” Greg says easily, blessing Mycroft with another wink. 

Mycroft’s so in love, and is made even happier by the look that he receives from Rosie as she digests this information. 

“Can I see him?” She asks, her eyes wide. 

“I’m afraid not, dearest. Today and tonight are the busiest he is the whole year.”

Rosie purses her lips together, “Will he be in my house tonight?” 

“Well have you been a good girl all year, darlin’?” Greg asks, amusement dancing in his eyes. 

“Papa and Daddy say I’m the best!” 

“Then he shall be at your house tonight.” Mycroft reassures her. “How about we make some hot chocolate?” 

“Uncle Mycroft makes the best hot chocolate, aren’t I right, darlin’? Though I do love the snowman you’ve built. It is getting a bit too cold though.” Greg is smiling proudly, and his smile widens when Mycroft blushes, and Rosie squeals in excitement. 

“Best dressed snowman in London.” Greg adds, carrying Rosie towards the french doors. 

The bells on the antlers ring as he steps carefully through the snow. Mycroft follows closely behind them both, feeling lighter than he has in months. 

* * *

  
Mycroft catches a glimpse of his reflection in the kitchen window as he waits for the kettle to boil. 

His hair is still wet from the shower, his unruly curl hanging down on his forehead, and he's in the new pair of brushed cotton pyjamas that Greg had gifted him. 

Then out the window in the fading light, Mycroft can see the outline of the snowman that he and Rosie had built earlier in the day. He can't help but smile at the memories.

He fetches his mug from the cupboard and as he turns towards the fridge for milk, he notices the pair of antlers that Greg had worn earlier lying on the kitchen island. 

Greg’s currently in the sitting room reading, and Mycroft can hear the muffled sound of Frank Sinatra's crooning on the vinyl of Christmas carols from where he’s standing in the kitchen. 

This is their fifth Christmas as a married couple, their seventh as partners. 

Each year, Mycroft never fails to be amazed by how this wonderful man inserted himself in Mycroft’s life and in doing so, changed Mycroft’s very existence. 

Before he and Greg began seeing each other, Mycroft had  _ loathed _ Christmas. 

Christmas had never been associated with happiness, even in childhood. 

Over the years Mycroft would do everything he could to not be in the country during Christmas, anything was better than sitting awkwardly through a Holmes family dinner. 

He’d confessed his dislike of Christmas to Greg early on; their first Christmas together was the first year in a decade that Greg had Christmas week off work.  
  
They spent Christmas Day in bed, curled up with each other, limbs tangled and fingers intertwined. 

Love made and love declared, over and over. 

Mycroft had never experienced anything like it. 

Christmases since then had been much the same, though now they do manage get out of bed in order to cook a proper Christmas roast together. 

Last year, they visited 221B in the evening on the 25th to see Rosie, and this year it would be the same. 

Instead of the energy he used to spend on loathing the season, now he and Greg decorated their home together.  
  
They’d watch countless Christmas classics, recently they’d found that they both had a penchant for atrocious Hallmark Christmas movies. 

Other ideal nights would include reading in front of the fire, Christmas songs playing in the background, mugs of mulled wine shared. 

The switch on the kettle clicking to signal it was finished boiling roused Mycroft from his thoughts.   
  
When he caught his reflection in the window again, he was surprised to see he was smiling. 

He found he was humming along to the muted Christmas songs as he poured out the water and waited for his tea to brew.  
  
Picking up his mug and taking one last look at the snowman in the backyard, Mycroft’s about to leave the kitchen when the antlers catch his eyes again. 

Without taking the time to talk himself out of it, he puts the antlers on, picks up his mug and goes to be with Greg. 

Despite Mycroft’s usual elegant pace, the bells still jingle with every little movement.   
  
By the time he gets to the sitting room door, Greg is taking off his reading glasses, his brows drawn in a mixture of confusion and amusement. 

“Darlin’?” Greg asks, looking up towards the door. 

Mycroft cherishes the look on Greg’s face when he meets his gaze. His husband is sitting in the glow of their Christmas tree, the soft light frames him; makes him look like someone in a dream. 

Except this isn’t a dream, this is Mycroft’s life. Greg is his. 

Greg’s watching him with his dazzling smile, his gorgeous eyes softening, and the little huff of laughter. 

“What’s this then, darlin’?” 

Holding his mug of tea cradled in both hands, Mycroft crosses the space between them, and Greg watches him all the way. 

Laughter lines become more pronounced with every little tinkle of the bells. 

“I must admit to feeling a little whimsical tonight.” Mycroft admits quietly, perching on the arm of the armchair Greg’s in. 

“Oh?” Greg’s looking up at him, the sheer love in his gaze never fails to make Mycroft’s heart race, that makes him feel loved and whole. 

Mycroft takes a shy sip of his tea, humming quietly in affirmation. 

Greg watches him still, “If we weren’t already married, I’d be proposing to you right now.” He blurts out, cheeks reddening. “Just looking at you,” He murmurs, “Bathed in the light of the Christmas tree in the pyjamas I bought you, cosy with a mug of your favourite tea. Those bloody antlers on you. Christ, Myc. I love you.” 

Mycroft reaches out with one hand, gently running his fingers through Greg’s hair, then caressing his cheek when Greg leans closer to him. 

“And I adore you, Gregory.” He says wholeheartedly. 

Greg raises his hand to intertwine their fingers, kissing Mycroft's knuckles. “Come to bed with me?” He whispers. 

Mycroft squeezes his hand, “I thought you’d never ask.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, comments would be appreciated <3
> 
> tumblr: @lostallsenseofcontrol  
> twitter: @lostallsenseof1


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